Now That You're Here
by Renica Swavely
Summary: One-shot detailing what happens directly following the events of Brave New World. Sylar takes Claire to a safe-house at the request of Peter and Noah after her dramatic reveal of the Specials causes an attack on them. In order to escape, Claire decides to change the power dynamics. But when the tables are turned will Claire be able to escape or will her plan backfire? Sylaire


_This party is old and uninviting, participants all in black and white. You enter in full blown technicolor. Nothing is the same after tonight. If the world would fall apart, in a fiction worthy wind, I wouldn't change a thing, now that you're here. - Incubus_

"My name is Claire Bennet. This is attempt number," she scoffed, hearing her own voice trail off. She couldn't recall how many times she had walked through fire, jumped from an impressive height, or cut herself. Surveying the shocked expressions in front of her, she realized it didn't matter. "Guess I've kind lost count."

Everything had changed.

People began calling out to her, shouting over each other, vying for her attention. She heard them say her name so many times, it began to sound strange. Off to the side, she could make out her father, staring at her wordlessly, as if she had just committed the gravest crime. She noticed Hiro and Ando near her dad and Lauren. They were silent and appeared confused. She started to move towards them, wanting to explain her actions.

That was when it happened. Someone reached around her body, turning her around. The man was dressed to look like a TV crew member, but he had a needle in his hand. Claire raised her arms up, blocking his attack and kicked her leg out, making direct contact with his chest. Before he could recover, his body was sent flying back several yards. She didn't watch. She just ran. Claire's mind was reeling. Nathan was dead and so was Danko. Who were these people? How had they known what she was about to do? How many were there? All the people around her began to look like a blur as she headed towards the back of the carnival.

Then suddenly Peter was there, pulling her through the crowd. "Claire, we need to go." He led her past flashing camera lights and people trying to get a quick comment on her daring stunt. "Now." Before she could respond, a dark figure appeared next to her uncle. She recoiled instantly.

"Sylar," she hissed.

Peter gave her a brief glance over his shoulder, while he attempted to navigate her away from the growing crowd of cameras and media personnel. He tightened his grip around her arm. "I'll explain. He's not what you think. We have to go. Now."

"No," she yanked free of his grasp.

"Claire, he just saved your life," Peter attempted.

"Claire, I won't hu-."

"Stay away from me," she snapped, backing away.

"Give me your powers. I need to fly us out of here," Peter said to him, ignoring Claire's look of disgust and disbelief. Without hesitation, Sylar rolled up his sleeve and held out his arm to Peter. Claire watched as her uncle placed his hand over the serial-killer's skin. There was a momentarily glow, then Peter was reaching for her.

"Peter!" A woman called out from the other side of the crowd.

His focus shifted from Claire to the woman. "Emma." He paused for a moment, watching her and taking in all of the people. "Get her out of here," he ordered Sylar. Then he took off.

Claire began to back away, knowing there was no point in running, but she'd be damned if she left her tormentor touch her.

"I promise, I'm not going to hurt you. I'm a hero now."

She laughed. "I doubt that."

"You have no reason to trust me, Claire, not after what I've done." She continued taking steps back and he followed. "I'm sorry. I know it isn't enough, but I apologize for what I have done in the past and," he dropped his gaze for a second, "for what I'm about to do." Just as the words escaped his mouth, he latched onto her, pulling her to him and scooping her up in an instant. She struggled against him, but he was much stronger. With a quick burst, he had taken off from the ground, straight up into the night sky.

Being pressed against her tormentor, a man who inspired her nightmares, was the last outcome she expected. Her rebellious stunt was meant to awaken a new world, not send her back to her past demons. The air blew her hair around as they climbed higher. She shivered from the chill and her uncontrollable fear. He moved in silence. His eyes were locked on the horizon, filled with determination.

As they moved through the air, the dirt and hay on her slipped off. Her skin was becoming cold to the touch. As a silver lining, she was grateful, Sylar was wearing a black wool coat. It was warm and kept his skin from touching hers. She still felt squeamish when she remembered how she had spilled her deepest thoughts to him, believing he was Gretchen. There was also the moment in the lecture hall when he had kissed her. She pushed that memory far to the back of her mind. She did not want to revisit that day.

After about an hour, they began descending. Sylar carefully placed her down on the ground. He looked at her as if he wanted to say something, then thought better of it and walked past her. Claire took in her surroundings. They were in a rural, forest area. Hills surrounded them and ahead of her she could make out a cabin. That was the direction Sylar had gone in, without so much as a word to her.

For a brief second she contemplated running off. It wasn't a smart plan. Not only did she not know where she was, she had no way of getting in touch with anyone, including her father. Her phone had died before they reached Central Park and was now smashed in her pocket from her dramatic jump off the ferris wheel. She realized her only choice was her former tormentor.

"Happy to see you've joined me," he smiled when she walked through the front door. He was pouring a glass of wine. To an outsider, it would seem normal, maybe even romantic considering the atmosphere around them. To Claire it felt like a never-ending game of cat and mouse.

The cabin wasn't very large. The living room was directly in front of her, with an open layout including the kitchen. There was a hallway off to the side of a large stone fireplace, which she presumed led to a bathroom and bedroom. She hoped desperately for two things - 1) running water and 2) separate bedrooms.

"Why did you bring me here?" she asked, not moving away from the door.

"Peter told me to. This is one of Angela's properties."

It was a simple answer. Claire didn't appreciate how happy he seemed to be. "So what now?"

He shrugged, a grin starting to show as he took a sip of wine. "We wait."

"For what?"

"For the 'all-clear' from your father." He waved a small, black cell phone in the air.

Claire raised an eyebrow. He had a phone. "My dad didn't know anything about those guys that tried to attack me."

"Maybe. Maybe not. But I think we both know he's going to become acquainted with them after trying to take you." He gave her a knowing stare. She crossed her arms over her chest, annoyed. "Either way, it may take a couple of days. Why don't you sit down? Wine?" She rolled her eyes at him and headed down the hallway.

A couple of days? She didn't want to be here for a couple of hours. Not if "brain-man" was staying here with her. She walked down the corridor, revealing a full bathroom and one bedroom. Her mood was not improving.

"I'm going to bed. And before you get any ideas about what that means, I mean I'm going to sleep in that room and you're going to find a home on the couch." He smirked. "Don't think just because Peter is on your side anything has changed. You're still a psycho and I will stab you again if I have to."

"Such fond memories," he mused. She glared at him, to which he sweetly responded, "goodnight, Claire."

* * *

The following morning, Claire woke up to the smell of breakfast being made. The smell reminded her that she had never eaten the day before. She was hesitant to leave the room. She opted for a change of clothes and a shower before braving a meal with her stalker.

The bedroom had a small closet and a dresser. She was surprised to find both fully stocked with clothes. She realized Angela was the queen of hidden agendas and the master of plans. There was probably a reason most of the clothes here were in Claire's size, but she didn't want to know it. The eery part of it was the fact that there were also men's clothing stashed in the room, tucked away in a hope chest against the opposing wall. She wasn't an expert, but she would guess they fit Sylar.

Grabbing a set of clothes, she went into the bathroom. The hot water was a relief. She hadn't inspected the bathroom last night to determine if running water was actually installed. She was very appreciative that her grandmother show value in luxury, even in a remote cabin. The idea of her being naked in the such close vicinity to Sylar made her rush through her normal routine in order to get dry and back into clothes.

When she got out of the bathroom, she heard him talking on the phone, but his voice was lower than normal. Claire stayed in the hallway, just out of sight, listening.

"Noah, I don't think I'm the best choice for this. Claire clearly agrees. She needs to be at home with her family and friends right now. I think-." He stopped, and she could hear the sound of the other line talking over him.

"You're her father," she heard Sylar insist. "Don't you think being there for her now is more important?"

Clearly not, because a second later, Sylar was slamming the phone down on the counter and cursing under his breath.

"The job comes first." Claire said, entering the kitchen.

"Claire." He was genuinely startled. She was sure it was a first for him. "Your dad wants you to be safe. That's what a real father does."

"No, what a real father does is be there when you are hurt or sad." She sat at a barstool, facing him. "My dad has never been there for me during any of those times." She scoffed, "Heck, he's probably been the cause of most of them."

"At least he didn't kill your mother." Sylar muttered darkly.

"No, you did."

"I'm sorry."

"Are you? Are you really sorry that you killed all those people?"

"Even if I wasn't sorry when I did it, I am now."

"Why?"

"Because it's make you look at me that way."

"What way?"

"Like you are going to try to kill me the first chance you get." She didn't answer him. There was something in his eyes when he spoke to her. It was genuine, but what it was exactly she wasn't sure. She had seen his face so many times in her nightmares, more often than she had seen in real life. He always had a hungry, haunted look that she couldn't fathom. That had been replaced by this new expression.

He caught onto her silence. "Maybe after breakfast, then?" He teased, before putting a plate of hot food in front of her. Claire looked over the spread. French toast covering in berries and powdered sugar, bacon, and coffee.

"Now if I give this to you, will you promise not to stab me?" He pretended to pause, then handed her a fork and knife.

"I wouldn't turn your back on me," she replied.

"Fair enough."

That's how it went on for days. Sylar cooked, cleaned, and kept constantly busy around the cabin. He didn't seek her out and he barely spoke to her unless she initiated it. Claire kept herself contained in the bedroom, only coming out for food, the shower, and an occasional walk outside. They would have conversations, usually ending in talk of death or some form of threat. At all other times there was silence.

After a week, the phone still hadn't rung with a return call from Noah and Claire was beginning to grow impatient. Peter hadn't tried to contact her or Sylar either, which bothered her more. Why would her uncle leave her with a man who had tried to kill her numerous times? He was her hero. He had protected from so many things. How was this move justified? He had promised to explain to her what had happened with Sylar to have made him trust the ex-serial killer so deeply. As she debated the possibilities, a new noise started in the kitchen.

Sylar was whistling and it set her off. She couldn't stand to see him so happy. "What is with you?" she cried, running into the room.

He turned around, displaying the food he was making in a skillet. "I get it. You hate me." He turned back to the stove top, ignoring her seething death glare. The whistling had stopped. "Don't take it out on the pancakes. They haven't done anything."

"Pancakes. Seriously?"

"Who doesn't like pancakes?" He asked, innocently. She opened her mouth to retort, then promptly shut it. There was no correct response for a serial killer who had turned into Rachel Ray. He moved toward her with the skillet. "Would you like some?"

She eyed them hungrily, nodding. They did smell good. He seemed pleased by her reaction to the peace offering. "What did you put in them?" she asked while he plated them. "Brains?"

"Claire, that's disgusting."

She smiled, remembering a less pleasant moment when he had responded the same way. It was funny how things came full circle. "Yeah, it is." She had a terribly sick sense of humor.

"No, brains," he smiled back. "Scouts honor," he crossed his heart, then held up a peace sign.

Claire laughed. "Um, I'm pretty sure that's not right." She took a bite of the pancakes, trying to hide the fact that she was still smiling for some unknown reason.

"Wouldn't know. I never got the chance to be a boyscout. I was too busy-."

"Killing people for their powers?"

"Helping my mom run the watch shop after my dad left," he finished, his voice quieter than before.

Instantly, she felt bad for saying it. The way he had said it, she could hear the honesty in his voice. There was small, sick twisting knot in her stomach as she watched him. His eyes had gone far away. The smile was gone. He appeared to be a shell of his former shelf. Not having a father figure in his life must have been hard. She understood all too well how difficult it was to have her father constantly away on work trips, then finding out her biological father had never knew she existed, but once he had barely spending a moment with her. That was hard, but not having a father at all must have been a trial.

"Sorry. Bad Joke."

"Claire Bennet, stubborn and indestructible cheerleader" his voice was a bit stronger now. "Apologizing to a mass murder for teasing him. That's one for the books." He piled some pancakes on a plate and stood over the sink across from her. "I'm sure your cheerleading friends and your father would be appalled you didn't take advantage of your enemy or implement any of your hazing rituals."

"Hazing rituals?"

"I have seen 'Bring It On' before." He admitted. She stared at him, her fork hovering with a bite of pancake still on it. "Don't judge. I'm sure you've done some questionable things."

"Having breakfast with a sociopath definitely makes the top of my list."

"I'm flattered."

"You should be. It's a long list."

She felt herself smiling again. How could it be so easy to speak with him? A part of her wished she didn't remember what he had done over the past few years. It was possible for him to truly be reformed. She could see the changes in his demeanor and his look, but her gut instinct still told her to run. Her flight or fight response was buzzing at all times, even in moments such as this where the threat was minimal.

It was too comfortable. She was beginning to see him as a friend, as a human. The realization floored her. He had once told her after one hundred years she would tire of fighting him and attempting to kill him. How could she have folded in a week? She needed to remember why she was here and her goal. She couldn't remain here with him. She had to break out.

"Done?"

Claire looked up. She realized she had finished her food and was now staring blankly at her plate. She nodded and he removed it. He started the dishes without another word. If he sensed her internal conflict, he didn't act like it. He didn't whistle again either.

* * *

Later that night, Claire sat on her bed trying to figure it all out. She needed to decide how she was going to get past Sylar and how she was going to find Peter. She still had no idea where they were, but Sylar had a cell phone. He normally had it in his pocket. If she could get close enough to him to take it, she'd have a lifeline to a world outside of this cabin. There was a huge problem with the plan.

He was always calm, collected. She had her emotions on her sleeve. She was impulsive, but predictable to a point. If this plan was going to work, she needed to be more like him, more crafty. If she was going to get out of here and steal the phone, she needed a plan, a way to distract him or make him so uncomfortable he would give her some space to slip out, unnoticed. In her mind, she replayed the many times she had come across Sylar. He was powerful, probably the most powerful Special she had heard of, but he acted powerful regardless. He was confident. She needed to act that way now. So how do you make an ex-sociopath, serial killer uncomfortable?

The question rolled around in her brain.

An idea hit her. It wasn't a typical plan, at least not for her, but she was sure it would work. Not wanting to waste any time, she slipped off her sweatshirt, revealing a low-cut camisole. She discarded the sweatpants for her pajama shorts. A quick spin in front of the mirror deemed her attire appropriate for what was planned.

Claire walked out into the living room. Her nerves were all over the place, but she bit back her bottom lip, took a deep breath, and moved past it. Sylar was sitting on the couch, reading in front of the fire. She had noticed he tended to do this when she was in her room. He glanced up when he appeared at the end of the hallway.

"Claire, do you need something?"

"I want to know my desires," she stated. She was surprised how even and natural her voice sounded.

"What?" He put the book down, leaning forward on the couch. "I don't understand."

"Lydia told me about her ability when I visited the carnival. You took her ability, right?" He nodded. "Then you can look into my soul and see my desires." She came to stand right in front of him, waiting.

"I don't think you realize what you're asking," he began. "Lydia's power is unique, but it requires me…" he hesitated to speak. Claire thought she saw a faint hint of color appearing on his cheeks. "to be close and in most cases physically touch the person."

"Ok." She didn't allow for a pause.

"Ok?"

"Yeah, sure. It's ok." He stared at her with a unfamiliar expression. Claire had to keep herself from smirking. She could see how addicting it was to be in control, to be powerful. He was easier to manipulate than she had originally anticipated. "Are you going to stand up or should I sit on the floor?"

Sylar rose to his feet. A split second passed while Claire debated whether this was such a good idea. After all, he was taller and physically stronger than she was. In this light, he looked handsome. He approached her with a purpose and it made her a little giddy. A light flipping sensation filled her stomach. She pushed the thought from her mind. She needed to maintain control and be in charge of the situation.

"Are you sure about this?"

"Yes," she pulled her hair back into a high ponytail, exposing more of her shoulders and collarbone. The color on his face deepened. This time it was far more noticeable. She decided to push it further. If he liked playing cat and mouse, she would play with him. "Tell me what you want me to do."

He placed his hands lightly on her upper arms, pulling her towards him. She held her breath. He bent his head down, touching his forehead to the top of her head. He didn't say anything. He was silent. Claire found herself looking at him, while he held her in place. She couldn't see his face, but she watched his chest rise and fall with each breath he took. At first, they were short. As the seconds ticked by, his breathing slowed and deepened. Through the fabric of his shirt, she could see the outline of muscles. His arms were toned too. She could see the strength while he stood motionless. It felt strange to acknowledge him as attractive, but Claire knew it was true. Just as she admitted it to herself, he pulled back.

"I can't," he let go of a breath, as if he had been holding it the entire time. "It's too far down," he continued, shaking his head. "Buried."

"There has to be another way."

"Contact. I need more contact to go that far. I can't do it without-." He stopped speaking the moment Claire pulled her shirt over her head. She dropped it to the floor. Her hands began to pull down her PJ bottoms, when Sylar's hands clapped over her wrists. "Claire. Stop."

She hadn't expected that. He wasn't facing her anymore. He had averted his eyes and his head hung down. She knew it would make him uncomfortable at first and mess up his newly happy 'I'm a hero now' mantra, but Claire had always expected the old Sylar to resurface, even if it was just a little bit. She had expected him to jump at this like a fly to honey. "Why?"

"You don't know what you're doing."

"I want to know my desires. It's not like it's something you haven't seen. I mean, you were me at one time, remember? You said you needed more contact, so-."

"No," he backed away, sitting down on the couch. He kept his eyes on the floor. "You don't know what you're doing to me."

It was impossible to hold back that smirk of triumph now. She walked over to the couch, dropping one knee on his left side and then placing her other knee on the right side, bringing herself to sit in his lap, facing him. "Actually, I do." She could feel her thighs against his thighs. She ran her hands up his arms and down the front of his chest. When her fingers wrapped around the bottom of the shirt, she felt him shift. The motion startled her and she yanked the shirt off. He didn't fight her, but the atmosphere was different. He was looking at her again. The expression was unreadable, but there was a flicker of pain in his dark eyes.

It struck her. She had never seen him as a victim. The horrors he had created were terrible. She was sure she would never forget. However, she couldn't bare to be the villain. She had hated him, yes, but to hurt him in the sick, twisted way he had hurt her was beyond her. She couldn't go through with this level of deception. If the outcome was a few more days in the cabin with him, she would endure. If nothing else, she was a survivor.

In the time it had taken her to come to her moral sanity, he appeared to have arrived at his own epiphany. "Claire," his hand reached out to tuck a lose strand of hair back behind her ear. She forced herself to look into his eyes again. The pain was gone. There was a new emotion there. One she recognized. Hope. He took a blanket off the back of the couch and wrapped it around her. "Tell me what you want."

"I don't know anymore," she sighed, feeling her resolve collapse. "I don't know."

She leaned forward, into him. Their foreheads touched. He placed his hands on her hips, half-balancing and half-holding her in his lap. She draped her arms around him, feeling a warmth radiating between their bodies. The heat made her think of the fire Meredith had been able to start spontaneously. There were no flames or sparks, but the fever rolled through her like wildfire, an internal inferno.

Sylar moved one hand up the back of her head. He guided her face down slowly, until their lips met. It was a different kiss than the one he had taken from her at college. This was soft, slow not quick and demanding. It wasn't about power or control. She was vulnerable in this moment, perhaps more vulnerable than she had ever been in her life. Her guard was done, most of her clothes discarded. With her walls down, Claire felt free.

She hadn't noticed the stillness of Sylar, as he pulled away. The deep, rhythmic breathing had returned. She raised her eyes to search his face, but his eyes were closed, brows pinched. He was concentrating.

"Sylar?"

"Gabriel," he corrected.

"What?"

He opened his eyes, looking directly at her. "That's my real name. Gabriel Gray."

Somewhere in the back of her head, Claire remembered seeing it on a file from her father's Primatech items. Gabriel Gray, humble watchmaker turned sociopath. "Gabriel," she said.

As soon as the name left her lips, he was pulling her back down for another kiss. The space between their bodies vanished. Claire was aware of the rising heat once more. She absently yanked the blanket off her shoulders. Gabriel's hands were positioned on her head and neck, tenderly moving through her hair. She held his face in her own hands. There had been kisses with other boys before, but he wasn't a boy. He wasn't inexperienced or awkward. He held her gingerly, but his hands still felt strong and powerful. He moved his lips along her cheekbone and down her neck.

A small gasp escaped her mouth. When he heard her, his mouth was back on hers. She could feel his arousal, which heightened her own. Instinctively, she ground her hips into his, eliciting a moan from him. He held onto her tighter, still gentle, but in a hungry, needy way, as if he was afraid she'd disappear. Claire melted into him, wanting to go further and explore this burning need she was also feeling. Gabriel lifted her up, beginning to walk back to the bedroom. Claire wrapped her legs around his waist, holding onto his body as he moved. Then, just as suddenly as he had started them down the hallway, he pushed back.

"I can't," he put her down and held her body away from his.

"What's wrong?"

"This isn't how I want it to be our first time," he confessed, moving away. She was dumbfounded. Her skin was still tingling from his touch and her stomach was a collection of butterflies. Claire watched as he bent down to retrieve the fallen blanket it and replace it around her. He was sitting back down, his hands balled up into fists in front of him. He looked ashamed to the point she nearly didn't recognize him. Peter was right. He had changed. "I stole that first kiss from you. I won't steal this."

She put her hand over his fists. "You aren't stealing anything," she told him.

He shook his head, stubbornly. "Not this way."

There was no arguing with him. She understood what he was saying. There was an undeniable truth in front of them. They were meant to be together. They were the only two who were going to live forever and they shared so many of the same pains of life. Each had shielded themselves against the world by hiding and forcing others away. Together they had the ability to bring out the best or worst in each other. They had been so set on destroying one another because of hating what they saw in the other, knowing it existed in themselves. Now that Claire had come to terms with it, she understood how special their relationship was.

"You're seventeen."

"Not technically," she corrected him.

His smile started to come back, then faded. "I can wait until you're ready, until it's right. Unlike everyone else on the planet, we have time. I will be patient through the years and I won't hurt your or ever let anyone hurt you, for as long as I live."

"I don't think you'll be waiting that long," she teased. He gave her another half-smile, but said nothing more. "Alright, then. I'm going to bed." She felt his eyes on her as she left the living room and moved down the corridor. When his voice cut through the silence, it startled her. She hadn't heard him get back up.

"I found your desire, Claire," he said, watching her standing in the doorway. "Do you still want to know what it is?"

She smiled. "I already do." Before she walked into her room, she said, "Guess I need to find a new hobby."


End file.
